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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23331517">It's the Safety Dance</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadhanjis/pseuds/squadhanjis'>squadhanjis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, Christmas Party, Drunk Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Shenanigans, First Kiss, House Party, M/M, Pining, Underage Drinking, drunk gay vampires, drunk gay vampires that are baz, it's called bisexuality simon it's real, we love to see it, who are also hopelessly in love with simon snow, wholesome penny and simon friendship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:14:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>19,560</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23331517</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/squadhanjis/pseuds/squadhanjis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘔𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮 𝘎𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘮 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦."</p><p>When Malcom Grimm decides in Baz's penultimate year of study that he wants to start gaining the favour of all the magickal families, Baz never thought it would be in the form of a party at the Grimm-Pitch Hampshire manor over Christmas.</p><p>And if that wasn't bad enough, he's been ordered to invite Simon fucking Snow. In person.</p><p>To Baz, a gay, pining vampire, who has been in love with Simon for years, who gets gloriously drunk from two glasses of sauvignon blanc, that really wasn't high on a list of ways he'd want to spend his Christmas holidays. He'd just spent six weeks trapped in a coffin, was the world really that cruel?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>239</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Malcom Grimm has decided, so we're all going out tonight.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first ever Carry On fic, so please let me know what you think, I am so happy to hear any thoughts you might have! I'm still including canon events or ideas but to fit my own timeline and self-indulgence of drunk, pining baz, so like, bear with me on this. </p><p>side note: i also make playlists for everything i write bc it inspires me, so here is the playist with the music that inspired this fic if y'all wanted to listen while reading :')<br/>https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5Y9r8QKqvF72y7BsVNqykz?si=qm2XPmmwRUauQtMLiJk6bA </p><p>also if u wanna scream abt snowbaz with me, <br/>my twitter is: outxfdove<br/>my tumblr is: squadhanjis</p><p>ok now onto the show</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>CHAPTER ONE.</strong>
</p><p>BAZ</p><p>I had never really taken Malcom Grimm as the theatrical type, but here we were.</p><p>“Absolutely not.”</p><p>“Just think about it, Basil. Next year is your last at Watford, and the minute you graduate is the minute things will escalate, and rapidly. I need support from the families outside of the club.”</p><p> He pinches his nose, a gesture I’ve taken after him, and sighs. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that once you and the Snow boy are out of school, the families <em>will </em>start to choose their side. As it is, support for the Mage is growing, and we need to start demonstrating that the Pitches are set on taking back what’s rightfully ours.”</p><p>“I appreciate the sentiment, Father, but a <em>party</em>? Do you really think people will turn against the Mage for free champagne and hors d'oeuvre?<em>”</em></p><p>It sounded more ridiculous by the minute. The Grimm-Pitches welcoming the entirety of Seventh year into our home, for fucking scones and tea followed by Bloody Marys and underage drinking. What a delightful evening of unnecessary socialising, when I could be with Fiona in London, watching reruns of <em>Buffy the Vampire slayer. </em>(Young James Marsters was my gay awakening, and it’s been a guilty pleasure ever since.)</p><p> “Do you ever wonder, Basilton, why the magickal world falls to the feet of Simon Snow, meanwhile you don’t seem to have many friends at Watford, aside from your cousins?”</p><p>I clench my jaw. “It wouldn’t be because of my sunny disposition, Father, would it?”</p><p>Malcom gives me a level look, his face devoid of all emotion. “If we are going to win this civil war, with the Grimm-Pitch family at the helm, we need strong foundations.” He clasps his palms together, nodding, his resolve clearly hardening. “We need to start warming people to the idea of us as their comrades, especially after your little disappearing stunt for the last six weeks. The families are beginning to think we’ve turned our back on Watford. We need to convince them now more than ever that we are a trusted family that people can turn to. This is the perfect way to do it, and it is final.”</p><p>My jaw is clenched so tight that I’m scared my fangs are going to start trying to break through. I know this drill. When Malcom Grim orders something into existence, the world will stop turning before something prevents it from being so. There is no point in trying to fight it. Not that he’d listen anyway. It’s always been this way, but we don’t talk about it. There’s a lot our family doesn’t talk about. Like the fact that I’m a vampire. A vampire that just spent the last six weeks kidnapped by fucking Numpties<em>, </em>for Crowley’s sake, and kept in a bloody coffin<em>. In my tennis whites.</em></p><p>I nod sharply, schooling my expression into one of apathy. “I see. I expect you want me to let the masses of Watford know upon my return?”</p><p>Malcom shakes his head. “No need. I’ll be sending out formal invitations to all the families, as well as your condolences for not being at school for the start of term.”</p><p>Morgana, as if the whole ordeal wasn’t humiliating enough, Malcom Grimm is now on cover-up duty to hide what an embarrassing failure of a mage his son is. I wait for him to elaborate further on exactly why he called me into his office, but he just looks down at his journals, seemingly dismissing me. I turn to leave, my patience worn thin and my mind running in circles, when he clears his throat. I turn back to the giant, ornate desk. “I would like you to personally invite the Chosen one, though.” He’s still looking down at some papers at his desk, not even making eye contact with me. <em>The bastard.</em></p><p>“Snow, Father? Are you sure that’s wise?”</p><p>
  <em>Snow. </em>
</p><p>That was an issue I pushed back into the box of other reasons I didn’t want this <em>get together </em>that I couldn’t explain to my Father. How do you explain to a Father that doesn’t talk about things he finds distasteful that not only is his firstborn a vampire, but he’s a <em>gay </em>vampire, who is pathetically in love with the chosen one who will probably end up killing him once they graduate from Watford, and that this gay, sad vampire also has the ability to get embarrassingly drunk from two glasses of sauvignon blanc.</p><p>(None of those are a good combination. What the fuck are you thinking, Malcom?) (Probably not that you’re in love with the Mage’s Heir, Baz, let’s be honest with ourselves here.)  (Fuck off.)</p><p>He starts shuffling though papers that, in my humble opinion, were perfectly fine where they were. “He’s a fan favourite, and he represents the mage, he needs to be there.”</p><p>I pray that he doesn’t feel the panic rising in me, or the way my whole entire body has run cold (or at least as cold as it can considering my… disposition). “Surely there’s a rule somewhere, even unspoken, that it’s foolish to give the enemy any chance to have an advantage over you?” <em>Like letting the golden haired, blue eyed chosen one around you when you’ve had a bit to drink and have been hopelessly in love with him for the past six years?</em></p><p>Malcom sighs at me, as if to ask me why I’m still there, and why I’m being obtuse. It usually doesn’t bother me anymore, I grew out of desperately wanting attention that wasn’t to do with discussing my place in the upcoming war years ago, but this conversation has left me irate. The Grimm-Pitches are known for our political schemes and alliances, but never for our apparent desire to get up close and personal with the mage’s heir.</p><p> “If we are seen to be instigating peace, and putting aside any political differences to welcome all, while the Mage is conducting searches into our homes, who do you think people will start to put their faith in?”</p><p>My voice is a whisper and my blood runs cold. “The Mage searched our house?”</p><p>A curt shake of the head. “Not ours. Not yet. I want to send a message that we have nothing to hide, and that we’re unfazed. I want you as the face of our family. You’re our future, Basilton.”</p><p>Merlin, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything as sincere as that come from my Father’s mouth, so I’m not sure as to why it sends such a shiver down my spine. I narrow my eyes, and nod once. No matter my feelings, or <em>misgivings, </em>towards Snow, my hatred for the Mage is stronger. Especially when my younger siblings are involved, the ones who haven’t yet known the radical dictating of the Mage and his merry men. “I’ll do it. I’ll ask him.”</p><p>Because what could possibly happen in the space of one evening?</p><p>(Only everything.)</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>SIMON</p><p>“He’s having a <em>what?” </em>I scrunch my nose, my mouth stuffed full of sour cherry scone. We’re in the middle of Autumn term, yet my stomach’s only just getting used to the feeling of three meals being readily available each day. I’ve had three scones at breakfast already, steadily devouring my fourth with no signs of slowing down, even though they’re piping hot after Penny cast a <strong><em>Some like it hot! </em></strong>on my plate before I tucked in.</p><p>“Penny, Baz hasn’t been here all term. Miss Possibelf says that even his Father had no clue where he was. He’s not even back yet, how is he suddenly planning a party?”</p><p> Baz’s disappearance had gotten to me. I was convinced he’d dropped out of Watford at one point, to start making his move against the Mage in the war. I’d started patrolling the woods, then the catacombs, then the ramparts at night. Safe to say, he hadn’t turned up. (I didn’t like not knowing where he was, or what he was doing. It meant he could be doing something evil, without me there to stop it.) I needed to see him for myself.</p><p>Penny sips at her tea delicately, sat opposite me. She glances quickly either side of us and sets down her china. She then leans forward and wipes my nose with a napkin, and it comes away red – strawberry jam. I grin sheepishly, while she rolls her eyes and casts <strong><em>Clean as a whistle!</em></strong> on the napkin. I wonder why she went through the trouble of wiping my nose, just to spell the napkin. I ask her so. She just laughs at me.</p><p> I’ve always wondered how she can look so composed when back at Watford, while I feel breathless for the first month, like if I don’t breathe deep enough and take everything in, it will be gone again. (Probably because she has a <em>home,</em> Simon.) I push aside a weird twang that pulls at my chest and focus on my scone and the copious amounts of cream and jam I’ve slathered on the top.</p><p>“Keep your voice down, Si. My Mum got her invitation by carrier pigeon this morning.” Her cup halfway back up to her lips again, she pauses, pondering. “They’re fancy invitations, as well as an apology on Baz’ behalf for not being at school.”</p><p>She fixes me with a pointed look that makes me fidget in my seat. She’d used the word obsessed when describing my fixation with Baz’s disappearance, but I was just <em>concerned. </em>Something had happened while he was gone. While the Veil had lifted. I think his Mother had visited me, and she’d told me things. I told myself that that was the reason I was so adamant to find Baz, to demand answers, as well as to thwart any schemes he was cooking up. I was <em>rightfully concerned</em>. I stare right back at her.</p><p>“I don’t know, Pen. This has plot written all over it still, I don’t like the sound of it.”</p><p> I angrily stab the clotted cream with my knife, scooping up to cover the other half of my scone. Penny just rolls her eyes at me. Penny hates it when I get started on the topic of Baz Pitch and his plots, she even went as far as to ban me from talking about Baz unless he presents a <em>clear and imminent danger </em>after Fifth year. (She used the word obsessive again, but I thought I was just being <em>practical. </em>When is Baz not plotting something?). Penny’s quiet for a moment, which makes me look up from my plate at the lack of chastising.</p><p>“Normally I’d tell you where to shove it, but this time I agree with you. Baz isn’t even her, and they offered no real explanation for why not.” I furrow my eyebrows, dipping my knife into the jam. I open my mouth to ask her to elaborate, but she holds up a hand to silence me. She meets my eyes and sets her cup down once more.</p><p>“My Mum thinks they’re doing it to try and garner support outside of the Club. Everyone knows it’s less than two years until we leave Watford, and until the Mage can seriously use you as a weapon.”</p><p>“Okay, but how is a party going to fix that?”</p><p>“It’s less the party, I think, Simon. It’s more the act of welcoming everyone into their home, building bridges with the rest of the Magickal community. She says the question on everyone’s minds is, is whether or not they’ll invite you.”</p><p>I pop the remaining scone into my mouth, chewing slowly. I can’t lie, I’m both proper weirded out and weirdly intrigued. I always figured Baz and his family lived in coffins all summer, hibernating or whatever the hell vampires do when they’re not killing things, and it had never occurred to me that Baz might have a normal family home. Or, as normal for an old prestigious wizard family. I’d never really thought about Baz outside of Watford, because usually that was when I tried my hardest to not think about <em>anything </em>to do with Watford.</p><p>
  <em>Summer.</em>
</p><p>It’s when I’m banished into care for six weeks, never in the same one twice, and where I have no contact with the Magickal world, with Penny, or the Mage, or even Agatha. It’s when I shave my head, lose all the muscle I’d gained that year, and basically stop being the chosen one for a season. It’s bloody awful, is what it is. I make a mental note to savour every scone and roast beef sandwich from now until the end of days.</p><p>“Penny for your thoughts?” A light voice, and the setting down of a breakfast plate pulls me out of my train of thought, and I look up. <em>Aggie. </em></p><p>We hadn’t spoken over summer since I’d spotted her and Baz in the Wavering Woods holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes, and I think I’d missed her. (Are you allowed to miss someone and still be angry with them? And confused?). It feels weird. With Penny, we’d agreed on no fusses, especially not after the time she possessed that old man to talk to me one summer. (That gave me a proper fight, and she promised to never do it again.)</p><p>With Penny it was mutual, for us to both keep our sanity. With Agatha, it felt like something she’d decided was right for us. Maybe it was. I’m lucky to have her, either way. At least, I thought I was, until she dumped me after a few weeks being back at Watford. We hadn’t spoken over summer, and we hadn’t really spoken since she’d told me that she wasn’t in love with me anymore. I guess there’s not much to talk about after a bombshell like that. At first, there was so much I wanted to say. (We were <em>it, </em>endgame, destiny. We were golden.) Now, I think it was probably for the best. Agatha looks brighter, and I think I do too.</p><p>She sits down beside Penny gracefully, her blonde hair falling behind her shoulders.</p><p>“What’s this about a party?”</p><p>I look down at my plate, feeling a tad sick.</p><p>“The Pitches are apparently holding a… a <em>happening </em>over the Christmas holidays. A big hoo-hah.”</p><p>I feel sick. Neither of them knows I saw, but I did. I know what I saw in the Wavering Woods. They were holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes. And we haven’t spoken about it. (I wouldn’t know if we could, if I had the right to ask anymore. How do you ask your ex-girlfriend if she snogged and still likes your mortal enemy without it being awkward?)</p><p>“<em>Baz </em>is holding a, a party?” she squeaks. I guess she hasn’t spoken to her parents yet. I look up and meet her eyes, searching for something, <em>anything </em>that would give me an excuse to wring out his neck before he gets the chance to make a move on her. I don’t find one, but this does little to quell that feeling of protectiveness in my chest. (She’s not yours to be protective over anymore, Simon.) I speak cautiously.</p><p>“We think it’s some sort of, of plot.” I push my plate aside lightly. I had considered going up to the food counters and getting just <em>one </em>more scone, but now Agatha was here, I didn’t want to embarrass myself. She was so perfect all the time, and I was all too aware of how bulky I was next to her when we were going out. That hadn’t changed, at least.</p><p>Agatha rolls her eyes in my direction, clearly put out. “Or he’s just doing something nice for everyone, to get to know everyone before our last year. Can’t you two ever just be <em>normal </em>and realise that sometimes, people do nice things?” she all but spits out. Aggie would never normally spit, so I’m a bit miffed.</p><p>Me and Penny just blink at this sudden display of emotion towards Baz Pitch, who has never really shown himself to be anything remotely near nice to anyone that wasn’t his minions, Niall and Dev. Neither of us really know how to proceed with this information, and my first instinct is to just look at the devil in question. I look over at his table, a glare already pre-emptively settled on my face. Except, of course, the bugger’s not there.</p><p>It's at that precise moment however, that the doors fly open right next to our table, and <em>Baz fucking Pitch </em>stands in the archway, a smug smile on his face.</p><p>I instinctively get up, throwing back my chair with force. The whole room is eerily silent, so silent in fact, you could probably hear a pin drop.</p><p>
  <em>Speak of the devil and may he bloody appear, smelling like cedar and bergamot and the souls of children.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>BAZ</p><p>Merlin and Morgana, if I’d have known that my disappearance would elicit such fire from Simon Snow, I’d have disappeared for eight weeks a long time ago. His absolute bewilderment, and the speechlessness of the rest of the dining hall, was delicious. It was unnecessarily ostentatious of me to <strong><em>Open Sesame! </em></strong>the grand hall doors open, but I’d watched a lot of Drag Race during my two weeks of ordered recovery, and I was in the mood for dramatics.</p><p>            Everyone expected me to go straight to my usual table, and while that was what I wanted to do, I’d been listening in on the Mageling’s conversation through the doors for the perfect opportunity. (Thank Crowley for vampire hearing.) So, while I wanted to walk past Snow and his followers and completely ignore his existence, as if I was on an ethereal plane above the rest of the world, I had a job to do.</p><p>What I do instead, in extreme Baz Pitch style, is school my face into the most apathetic, uninterested expression possible and walk as meaningfully as I could over to the Mageling’s table, ignoring the hundreds of eyes following me in favour of two blue ones.</p><p> </p><p>
  
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>SIMON</em>
</p><p>“I’m honoured you think so highly of me, Wellbelove.” Baz drawls.</p><p>
  <em>How the bloody fuck did he hear that?</em>
</p><p>(He’s a vampire, this proves it.) He wasn’t even in the room. But he’s at our table now, after eight weeks of not even being on school grounds. And he’s talking to me. Us. And I’m not listening because I’m too focused on the fact that Baz Pitch is here, back at Watford. I can’t hear what he’s saying, just his voice. And it’s not that his voice is high-pitched, or annoying, but it’s sickeningly eloquent. Of course, it is. He’s such a twat. I shake my head.</p><p>“Is there a reason you’ve finally decided to grace with your unholy presence after eight weeks?” I give my best attempt at a sneer, but I’ve never been quite able to master it. I hope it looks as condescending as I intended, and not like I’ve spent the last eight weeks fretting about his location, but judging by Baz’s arched eyebrow, I probably just look constipated. Well. (At least I can be smug at the vampire reference I sniped at him. I’ve been waiting for eight weeks to use that one. It’s the small victories.)</p><p>He looks bored. Like he’s not about to just say what I think he is, what Penny is most likely also thinking, judging by her curious expression.</p><p>“There is, Snow.” He says, he looks mildly uninterested, despite his theatrical entrance not even two minutes ago.</p><p>“As you’ve no doubt heard, is that my family is hosting a sort of gathering over Christmas. The invitations have already been sent out, and I’m sure you’ve noticed your lack of one.” He reaches into his blazer, and pulls out a white envelope, adorned with black calligraphy and shimmering with magic. The Pitches really do have a flair for the dramatic.</p><p>“I am here to remedy that. Rather than just donate a sum this year, the Pitches thought we’d do a spot of hands-on volunteering this season, so you are being invited to our little gathering,” he pauses for a moment, as if mulling something over. “Against my wishes, I might add.”</p><p> He sets down the envelope in front of me, but I don’t go to take it straight away. I think I’ll leave it there for a moment. I don’t want to let him know how intrigued I am by this whole situation. I’m so transfixed by the magic radiating from the invite that I let his insult wash right over me. (That, and I’m slightly scared that it’s also just an elaborate plan to poison me with tampered paper.)</p><p>“Bunce, Wellbelove, always a pleasure.”</p><p>I’m still so deep in thought that it’s not until I look up to ask <em>why </em>this is happening and demand what he’s got up his sleeve and where’s he’s <em>been</em>, that I see the fucker’s already back at his table, fixing himself a cuppa, not even sparing a glance in my direction. Like this whole, utterly bizarre interaction didn’t just take place. I feel myself gaping.</p><p>
  <em>Wanker.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>BAZ</p><p>“That was a bit public, mate, wasn’t it?”</p><p>I pull back a smile, sipping at my tea. Niall is sat to my left, looking at me out of the side of his eyes. Dev has a slightly shocked expression to match, and it’s exquisite. I hadn’t even had time to talk about the upcoming events with the two boys, before I’d waltzed right up to the Mageling’s table and stunned Simon Snow into silence. It was nice to be back in familiar territory, with not-so-subtle digs and insults hurled at each other, it was as natural as breathing.</p><p>I set my china down. “Why, Niall dear, I’m so glad you noticed.” Two sets of eyes stare expectantly at me. I suppose you could count Niall and Dev as my only friends, despite the relation. But I really didn’t see what the big deal was, surely it was better to be feared than loved in the world of Mages?</p><p>“That’s how Malcom wanted it. The bigger the spectacle, the better.”</p><p>“Let me guess, if Malcom specifically wanted you to invite Snow, it’s got to be to do with the tensions of the war, right cousin?” Dev moves aside his plate, leaning forward.</p><p>“You’re getting warmer.”</p><p>“But why the spectacle? Why not just send an invite to the Mage?” Niall chimes in.</p><p>I take a sip of tea. “Please boys, don’t embarrass me. The Mage would burn the envelope the first chance he gets. He’d never let the families know we extended our home to his heir.”</p><p>“So, Malcom wanted every student to see, and report back to their families then. If word gets out that a Pitch was the first one to make a public move to diffuse tensions and start building bridges, and not the Mage, it could cause a sway in loyalties?”</p><p>I raise an eyebrow at Niall, he’s alarmingly deceptive.</p><p>Dev is sat opposite me, his face lit up with pure glee like a fucking child on Christmas morning. While I more give the appearance of caring about the silly politics of this civil war between the old families and the radical mage’s men, Dev is inherently invested in the affairs of the civil war. Make no mistake, if it came down to it, I’d fight with every last drop of magic I had, just to make sure my family was safe from harm, but I wouldn’t care for it. I’m still foolishly holding on to hope that it won’t come to that, or to a battle between me and Snow. I may be a vampire, but the idea of spilling blood was unfathomable to me. (And it had nothing to do with the idea of harming Simon Snow, <em>really harming Simon Snow, </em>made my skin crawl and my stomach pang.) I wasn’t an idiot and knew Dev did not share these same sentiments.</p><p>“Is that what this whole party is about? Keep your allies close but your enemies closer? Is that why you’ve invited the Mage-lings? And the Chosen one?” Dev all but snarls.</p><p>I grin darkly, my teeth showing. “Ding, ding, ding. We have a winner.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Hot tramp, I love your arse in those trousers.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hello !<br/>thank you for such lovely feedback on the first chapter, it means so much to me.<br/>i've never really shared my writing before, and this chapter especially is scary to post because it's starting all the action and this is where my writing will really be tested, so again bear with me and please let me know what you think &lt;3</p>
<p>ok again, on to the story !</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>PENNY</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I look over to Simon, standing in the middle of my bedroom, trying to figure out how in the world he gets by without me when we’re not at Watford.</span>
</p>
<p> <span>“Simon, you can’t wear your </span><em><span>uniform </span></em><span>to Baz’s party.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>He actually crosses his arms, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>harrumphs </span>
  </em>
  <span>like a toddler. Merlin.</span>
</p>
<p> <span>“But I always wear my uniform.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“Which is exactly why you can’t wear it tonight. This is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>special occasion, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Simon. It’s not every day we get to go parties together. Even if it is at Baz’s house.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t even know you </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> parties.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon looks at me then, and my heart constricts a little at his expression. It’s the same kind of pulling I get every autumn when I see how skinny he got over the summer holidays, and the same kind of pulling I get every spring when I know how skinny he’s about to get.  Those are always the hardest times, at least at Christmas I know he goes to Agatha’s and gets fed and clothed and looked after, but summer is a whole different kettle of fish. Mind you, it’s not like he can even go to Agatha’s this Christmas anymore. She disinvited him once they broke up, which I think is a tad selfish of her because she knows he’d have to stay at Watford by himself, but I learned to keep my opinion to myself about their relationship a long time ago. (I’m glad they broke up, though. They’re both happier, even if Simon won’t admit it.) I did ask Mum if he could stay here for the whole of the holidays rather than just this weekend, but she said no, she gets her knickers in a right twist when anyone mentions the Mage. She’s always had a bee in her bonnet about him, but it’s worse than usual lately. She won’t tell me why, though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just not a good time, Penelope. You’ve just spent a whole term with Simon, now’s the time for family.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Personally, I think that’s a load of codswallop. There are seven of us in this family, six of us in this house when you discount Premal, who’s not even coming home this Christmas. That’s still four of us and two parents, yet I can go days without bumping into even one of them in our house. (It’s not even a big house, it’s just cluttered.) We all just stay in our rooms doing our own things, occasionally coming up for air to make a cuppa or a ham sandwich. It’s not that we don’t interact at all, we’ve just all got our own things to be getting on with. It’s the way my Mum’s raised us, I suppose, to be quite independent, free thinkers. Anyway, I know she’s bluffing because I overheard her and Dad in our study, talking about the mage and raids and old families with other members of the coven. Which makes me think it’s about her and Prem’s argument last term, when he tried to carry out a search of our house under the Mage’s orders. Morganna, that was awful. She nearly almost disowned him. (I think she might have just been saying that.) I also think she’s worried that if Simon stays here, and finds something, he’ll run straight to tell the Mage. Our house is filled with forbidden books and artefacts, not that Simon would recognise them even if he did see them. I think Mum knows that, and I think she knows he wouldn’t tell the Mage either, but it doesn’t make her any less cautious around him. I try not to tell him about all of my parents’ politics usually, because he doesn’t need to hear it on top of everything he’s got going on, especially now. I’m his biggest fan, and he’s my best friend, and that’s all either of us need. I look at him now, and I’m hit with another pang at his downtrodden expression.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And besides, I don’t really have any fancy clothes, Pen. This is it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I get up and walk across my room, taking his hand and leading him out of the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Premal’s got a load of fancy clothes that he left behind. Come on, Si, we’ll find you something. You’re going to look lovely.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>SIMON</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I still think this is all part of some bigger plot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I keep telling Penny as much, but she just tells me where to stick it as she throws fancy shirt after fancy shirt into the huge pile already in my arms. She’s already dressed in a purple knitted cardigan that matches the scrunchie holding her hair up, a pleated skirt and tights with little patent shoes. We’re not even at school, but she’s dressed like we’re back in uniform. She always does that, always manages to look like a little girl in uniform, even when she’s out of it. I like it though, it’s nice and comforting and makes me feel a little bit less alone. I don’t really know how it works, but I’ll never stop being grateful that Penny took pity on me on our first day of school and decided to be my friend. I don’t know where I’d be without her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nicks and Slick, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Simon. You’ve filled your quota talking about Baz for the whole year. Even if it is a plot, there’s free food.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I sigh pathetically, you can’t really argue with Penny. (Especially when she puts it like that.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We try on different shirts and trousers, making an almost game out of finding matching combinations, until we settle on a tight pair of black and white checked trousers, and a white T-shirt. I look in the full length mirror in Premal’s wardrobe and I’m a bit stunned. I’ve never worn anything like this before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wicked.” I grin, turning to see what they look like from the back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> I know it’s just hand-me-downs from Penny’s brother, but I’ve outgrown all the clothes the Wellbelove’s bought me last year, and honestly it’s quite nice to wear something that’s not the uniform for a change. I don’t normally really think about my appearance when there are bigger things to worry about, usually I’m just in my uniform or baggy tracksuit bottoms, so I’ve never really had to think about it. I guess I’ve got a few hang-ups like everyone else, if I think about it. It’s kind of hard not to be a bit self-conscious when you drop and gain that much muscle at least twice a year. Even when I come back from the summer holidays having had a bit of a growth spurt, Baz and all the other boys still tower over me. One summer I’d come back, having really bulked up over the holidays, only to find Baz had done the exact same. He’s always about three inches above me, and he likes to rub it in my face when we fight. He’s such a wanker.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m suddenly thankful again for all the sausage sandwiches, four sugar and full fat milk cups of tea, and all the scones, as well as all the running around looking for Baz at the start of term. These trousers hug my thighs, and the shirt shows the outlines of my shoulders, which is a weird feeling, but I don’t think it’s a bad one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Our whole year will be there, our whole year who never see me out of the Watford uniform or without my sword in my hand. It makes me so nervous that my stomach starts to twist. Maybe they’ll see me as something other than the Mage’s heir. Maybe they won’t just see me as Simon Snow, chosen one and utter liability, but as just Simon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe Agatha will see me as just Simon.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The thought makes my gut twist again. I hadn’t even thought about her this weekend at the Bunce’s, which was the first time I hadn’t thought about our break-up in a while. She’s going to be there tonight; I was almost positive she would be. It would be nice to see her. She’d stopped sitting with us completely towards the end of term. (I can’t say I blame her; it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>slightly awkward seeing her in the corridors, even after a few months.) I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about her over the holidays, wondering what it would take to get her back. She’s so perfect, she probably doesn’t want me back, and I probably shouldn’t be thinking about it. I’m not even sure I want her back, but I guess you can’t really help overthinking when you’re going solo in a huge castle. It’s not like summer, where I could pretend Watford and magic and the humdrum didn’t exist, instead I’m in the thick of it. But I don’t mind, anything was better than care and I hated being away from Watford.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, is it proper fancy tonight then?” I ask.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“At first it is, all the families are there. My Mum’s even staying for a bit.” Penny hands me a blazer. I shrug it on and look at her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, so all the families are fucking off halfway through? What’s the point in that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Penny’s already got her jacket and bag ready, so she’s already started pushing me out of the door of Premal’s bedroom, into the hallway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Probably so Baz can socialise with our year, while the adults talk politics. And probably so they can do all this while getting trollied off prosecco without the other seeing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds more like the adults are going off to </span>
  <em>
    <span>strategize </span>
  </em>
  <span>while Baz </span>
  <em>
    <span>brainwashes </span>
  </em>
  <span>us all, Pen, I knew this all sounded dodge.” I’m being full-on manoeuvred out of the house now, into Mitali Bunce’s waiting car.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Merlin, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Simon, give it a rest would you!</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>BAZ</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I was being uptight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I knew it. Everyone at this party bloody well knew it, but I couldn’t help myself. The hordes had just started arriving, all dressed to their version of the nines, most likely here out of curiosity to see how the other half lives. Our house is a protected magickal heritage site, after all. I stare at them all in distaste, a glass of champagne in my hand. Vile stuff, champagne. All it’s good for is getting you tipsy after one glass, which I suppose is an upside in this unfortunate situation. My Father and stepmother will use any excuse to crack open a bottle, but honestly, I’d much rather go to Waitrose and get their own brand Margarita cocktail mix. (It would have to be Waitrose. I still have class.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mate, if you keep shaking like that, people are going to start thinking you’re a wet dog.” Dev sneers. I wonder how long it took him to come up with that one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck off,” I snap back, eloquently. I look around the room again, we’re in our conservatory that looks out on the gardens. It’s filled with lit candles, candelabras and every surface covered with decadent catering. A soft classical melody wafts through the crowds, which pairs nicely with the golden hue of the room, making the whole thing seem rather elegant.  A typical Saturday night in the Grimm-Pitch Hampshire mansion, really. It’s utterly boring, and I’d happily trade it all for Fiona’s apartment and our beloved </span>
  <em>
    <span>David Bowie’s Top Hits </span>
  </em>
  <span>album. (Crowley</span>
  <em>
    <span>, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’d forgotten how much of a bitchy drunk I am when I drink bubbly.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop looking around for the Chosen one, Baz, you’ll get a hard-on. He’ll be here soon.” Dev’s eyes are twinkling, he’s already had a few, which is when I become the brunt of his jokes. He’s made enough jabs about Snow’s obsession with me for me to be able to throw him a cool look in return. This, I can deal with.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re extra catty tonight, Dev. Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen Niall either since Wellbelove got here. That wouldn’t be the reason you just downed your third now, would it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He splutters. “I didn’t, I didn’t mention-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I turn away from him, bored. I’ve hit a nerve. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> <span>I don’t even know if Agatha is here or not, but it’s always good fun to taunt Dev when he’s had a few. In fact, I’m not even sure if Wellbelove is coming to this tonight. I imagine she will be in attendance, her name is a respected one, even if her family are glorified socialites. I don’t see why they’d miss it. I haven’t had the pleasure of Agatha’s company since she approached me that afternoon on my way through the courtyard back to Mummers, spewing nonsense about talking and destiny. I’d love to see the look on Simon’s face if she made a move on me tonight. I’d politely reject her of course, I’m not cruel – but not before he saw us dance together. I think he’d probably go off there and then.</span></p>
<p> <span>I suppose it’s too early for most people to arrive, which is probably why my stomach is doing fucking somersaults. There’s no sign of Snow or Bunce anywhere, but I know they’re coming because Mitali made a special effort to RSVP, probably in retaliation for the Mage’s latest scandal. His orders for Premal, the eldest Bunce sibling, were to carry out a ‘routine search’ on their family home. Father told me that it hit a nerve with the Bunce’s and it’s why he’s not spending Christmas with his family, but instead in his commune with the merry men. How vulgar. Daphne, my stepmother, tends to stay out of coven politics but even she was disturbed by this. The mage couldn’t</span><em><span> get </span></em><span>any less tasteful if he tried.</span></p>
<p> <span>“Basil, you </span><em><span>bullshitter. </span></em><span>Agatha just got here.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>I look to the direction he’s pointing. So, she did. She looks quite lovely, I’ll admit. Her blonde hair is curled into locks, and she’s got a pretty pink dress on. And she’s just stolen a glance at me, clearly thinking she’s being subtle as she lightly takes a glass of champagne from one of the servers. Dev sees this too, mistaking it for his direction, and perks up like a fucking puppy. It’s a sight to behold, and he goes to make a beeline to her, until we both see her expression fall. I raise an eyebrow, and it takes me a second to realise that, aside from the soft sound of Mozart, the room has gone quiet. I follow the direction of every line of sight in the room, and my whole body tightens instantly. The Bunce’s are here, with an apparent special addition to their family. Snow. Most of the adults in this room have never seen Snow in the flesh, only in photographs and magickal newspapers, so it’s no surprise you could hear a pin drop in this room. But what takes me surprise is the way in which my body feels like it’s on fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>fire.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon Snow, who has been my roommate for the last seven years, standing in </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>home. Really, it’s nothing out of the ordinary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What is out of the ordinary however, is Simon Snow, in all of his heroic glory, is standing in my home dressed in a pair of </span>
  <em>
    <span>ridiculously </span>
  </em>
  <span>tight checked trousers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m tipsier than I thought, because my breath audibly hitches, but I’m lucky enough that everyone is too focused on the golden boy over there to hear.</span>
</p>
<p> <span>Snow strolls over to the catering, painfully unaware of the effect his presence has on every other person in the room, and starts helping himself to appetizers. It’s an absolutely disgusting sight, he is a vacuum to anything edible, with not an inch of grace or decorum. Bunce teeters after him in her little patent kitten heels, apologising along the way and dragging him back to greet the other families, who are starting to form a crowd around him.</span></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Christ on a fucking bike, </span>
  </em>
  <span>this was going to be a long night.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>BAZ</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’ve been as stiff as a board since Simon got here. (</span>
  <em>
    <span>No, not in that way.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> <span>I’ve been snarling at the help, giving blunt answers to anyone who tries to speak to me, and absolutely </span><em><span>absolutely </span></em><span>refusing to dance with anyone’s grandmother, no matter how much they say I’ve grown, or how handsome they say I’ve become since they last saw me. I think people are wary of me as a result of my behaviour, as if I have a </span><em><span>Don’t touch the animal - it bites! </span></em><span>sign plastered across me. If only they knew. Not that I could give two damns. I’m too busy drowning the mental image of Simon Snow’s arse in those trousers with champagne and duck liver pâté. I know I’m being ridiculous, but I’m angry at Snow, because who decided to let him out into the world in those trousers with an arse like </span><em><span>that</span></em><span>? Were the Numpties not enough, world, did you want to fucking torture me to death as well?</span></p>
<p> <span>They’ve been here for over an hour now, politely greeting families and making small talk, and Snow’s only eaten a quarter of the food provided. He’s also only made daggers at me around thirteen times. I say daggers, but honestly I’m not entirely sure w</span><em><span>hat</span></em><span> I’d call that hideous expression he’s sending my way. He’d stared at me with gritted teeth non-stop all last term and I’d get a waft of smoke whenever he was around, but right now he’s just looking at me</span><em><span>. </span></em><span>And looking </span><em><span>away </span></em><span>when I look right back at him. It’s unsettling and outside of our usual jig, I suppose this situation is an anomaly in itself, but he’s looking at me as if he has something to say. Or, like he’s more cautious of me than usual. I’m not sure how I feel about it, or if it’s partly to blame in the fact that I’m not nearly as drunk as I should be at this moment in time. Dev’s already left his post at my side in favour of chasing after Agatha like a lost mutt, and Niall is socialising with the rest of our year. Who knew the jammy bastard was such a social butterfly? Fiona should be here, she said she’d drop by to put me out of my misery, but I’m not holding her to it. She’s unreliable at the best of times. I bitterly take another sip of champagne. It still tastes like shit.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>All in all, the evening is going as well as can be expected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>SIMON</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I thought Watford’s spread at mealtimes was luxury, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>Merlin’s beard, </span>
  </em>
  <span>this food was unlike anything I’d ever seen. There were golden puff pastries filled with anything and everything, parcels of cream cheese and smoked salmon, roast figs filled with spices, fancy cheeses and peppered crackers, toasted slices of bread with mushrooms and fancy sauces, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>I couldn’t stop eating.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Penny’s looking at me like she’s scared to intervene, and I can feel some of the guests here looking at me like I’m a wild animal, but I can’t help it, I’ve never tasted anything like this. Baz is looking at me scoffing my face in disgust, I bet he eats this sort of thing for breakfast every day. Probably a bit more civilized than me. Alongside two dozen rats, too. I know I would if I could. (The food that is, not the rats. Although I bet he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>eat them with as much grace as he does pretty much everything else he does. Posh twat.) Still, it’s almost enough to distract me from worrying about his hidden agenda.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Almost.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s lurking at the back of my mind, and I’m still a bit on edge. (Penny told me to just breathe, and to just let go for once. I don’t really know what she means by that.) I haven’t really drunk anything yet either, only one glass of champagne, even then I tipped it in a plant pot. It was grim, and anyway, I’ve got to keep my wits about me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’ve got to tell Baz about what I saw. About his Mum.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’m not even sure tonight’s the night to do it, but I feel like I’m going to explode any minute if I don’t get it off my chest. Or worse, go off in the middle of this party. (f you could even call it that. I’m a bit bored, if I’m being honest.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Agatha’s here, though. I haven’t had a chance to talk to her yet, she’s got </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dev </span>
  </em>
  <span>of all people wrapped around her. It’s not that I’m jealous or anything, but I did think she’d at least want to say hello and wish me a Merry Christmas. Her parents did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Simon, boy, shame you’re spending Christmas with the Bunces this year, we’ll miss you.” Dr Wellbelove had said, giving me a hard pat on the back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do make sure to pop in over the holidays if you can though, Simon. It’d be a shame not to see you on Christmas.” Agatha’s Mum had kissed my forehead, leaving a lipstick mark. Penny had to scrub it off with a napkin. Right now, Penny’s stood next to me, chatting with one of her Mum’s friends about the etymology of ancient disappearance spells, so obviously I’m not really following. I’m a bit zoned out, if anything, I can’t really concentrate. I don’t know why Agatha felt the need to lie to her parents; she knows full well I’ve spent the last two weeks roaming around Watford’s halls on my own, or with Ebb and the goats. Maybe she felt guilty. Or maybe she just doesn’t want things to be any more awkward. That’s probably it. I can’t pretend like I know what she’s thinking, Merlin knows I never have before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I look over in Baz’ direction. He looks even more pissed off than usual, which is saying something. He’s got a white iron grip on his drink, and he’s all sharp angles, harsh lines and clenched muscles. I don’t know what his problem is, other than the fact he’s a spoiled brat. And a vampire. Baz makes eye contact with me and the git actually snarls, right as Mr Malcom Grimm himself appears next to him, pulling him aside. Instantly, he goes from bored to tense and strained, his face pinched, and his jaw tight. They look like they’re talking in hushed tones and Baz’ sharp brows are furrowed. It doesn’t look like a fun conversation. I wonder what they’re talking about. (I wonder if they’re plotting something. They still could be. Baz’s dad looks exasperated.) If you didn’t know Baz and see the Pitch resemblance of sharp eyes and sour expressions, you wouldn’t think this was a conversation between Father and Son. But then as soon as the moment happens, it’s over. Mr Grimm pats Baz on the back, and walks away, leaving Baz standing there, a faraway look in his eyes. This whole thing feels fucking strange.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> I turn back to Penny. She has a radar when it comes to me and Baz, and I turn to find her looking at me already, knowing exactly what’s about to come out of my mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I suppose you want to know if that steak tartare you just ate was poisoned, Simon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” I retort. I’m being a bit childish, and I know it. “I’m just wondering if we wasted these nice trousers on a shitty evening.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the words leave my mouth, the sound of clinking glass rings throughout the room, followed by the clearing of a throat. Everyone in the room turns to the source of the noise, Mr Grimm. He’s stood in the middle of the room, dressed in a fancy black suit and tie, standing next to what I assume to be the rest of the Pitches. I’ve never seen the rest of Baz’s family before. Baz’s dad’s got this smarmy smile plastered on his face in favour of the fed-up expression he gave Baz not even a few minutes ago. (It makes me shiver. I’m still utterly convinced they all sleep in coffins and are devoid of human emotion.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you for coming tonight, everyone. I think we can all agree we’ve had our differences in the past, but I’m so delighted we’ve all managed to come together under one roof tonight.” Smooth-talking bastard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He goes off on a little speech about our realm, about the families and sticking together. About the Pitch’s as a great family, and the potential the Magickal community has. He keeps referring to a new era. It’s all bullshit, obviously, he’s just trying to undermine the Mage, and everyone knows it. I can start to feel myself getting angry and start to feel smoke rise through me, my magic trying it’s damned hardest to leak its way out of my pores. People start to shuffle around me, away from me, and it makes me even hotter. Penny grabs my hand and squeezes tight. It helps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>AGATHA</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t really know why I decided to come to this, after all. I had thought it would be a good chance to maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk </span>
  </em>
  <span>to Baz after our conversation in the courtyard, and maybe get to know some of the other students in our year. It would be nice to not have to eat my lunch in my room every day next term in favour of sitting in the dining room like a normal person. It was hard to make other friends when you were in a club with the chosen one and his sidekick. It’s not that people didn’t like them; or Simon, at least. It’s just that they were always so intense, there was always a threat to the world of mages, or always some elaborate conspiracy, or mission they had to complete. It’s not that our classmates would stay away, I think, it’s just that Simon and Penny are always caught up in their own little world. (I’d be sitting with them, and they’d forget about me. Look straight through me as if I wasn’t there.) They just weren’t the kind of people you’d come and sit next to and chat about the football game at lunch, because Simon would make it all about Baz and how he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>obviously </span>
  </em>
  <span>cheated and used it as a front to carry out an elaborate, intricate evil scheme. He always, always talks about Baz and his schemes. As a result, I hadn’t really made many friends, and I’d thought that this party would be a good starting point. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But so far, the only person showing any interest in me is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dev Grimm.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure he’s a nice boy, even if his way of flirting is just following me around and talking about himself. My parents would approve of his social standing too; they’ve told me so before. My mother has taken it upon herself to find me a ‘suitable bachelor’ since Simon and I broke up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why don’t you go for that nice Grimm boy, Agatha? I’ve heard he’s quite sweet on you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> (I don’t know how many times I told her that, </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mother, I’m not really </span>
  <em>
    <span>looking </span>
  </em>
  <span>for anything or anyone else right now. I’d quite like to be on my own for a little while.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nonsense! You’re a beautiful girl, Agatha. You need someone that can treat you as such. Show the Snow boy he’s made a horrible decision.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’d wanted to shake her then. Not that it matters, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>broke up with </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. I </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t think it’s such a horrid decision. I don’t think it’s occurred to anyone that I could possibly want to live my life as Agatha Wellbelove, possible vet or equestrian, not Agatha Snow, eternally damned to live life in the shadow of the chosen one. I didn’t want to just be an accessory to someone else’s ensemble, or a plot point in their novel. I wanted to be my own stand alone. Maybe that’s harsh. I think it probably is; I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>love Simon. At least, I think I did. I just wanted… I’m not really sure what I wanted, or want, and I’m definitely not sure if I should even be here. Minty had invited me for a sleepover; her Mum was going to order us in takeaway. I should’ve just taken her up on it, my mother’s comment has clearly gotten to me more than I thought. This morning, at the breakfast table, she’d even gotten my Father involved. He’d looked up from his newspaper at me.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a good name, Grimm. He’d bring you lots of opportunities at least, especially at the club.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I’d stayed quiet. My parents mean well, they really do, they only want what’s best for me. Or, what they think is best for me. Personally, I’d like to just be left alone and be normal. I’m tired of all the politics. I take a sip of champagne to clear my head. It’s quite lovely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Baz’s father, Mr Grimm, is making his annual speech. I’ve been to quite a few of these events; they’re usually just for Club members and respected families. Tonight, the room is filled with all of our year and their families; I’m pretty sure this is a publicity stunt. Or a political strategy. It always is with the Grimm-Pitches, and with most of the other older families. It makes my head spin trying to keep up with it, not that I really do. I couldn’t care less for politics. Which is another reason why being friends with Simon and Penny was </span>
  <em>
    <span>exhausting, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’s all they talk about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I make eye contact with Simon then, accidentally. He gives me a small smile through the crowd, looking just as uncomfortable as I feel. I give a little wave back. I’ll really have to talk to him at some point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>BAZ</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Lighten up, Basilton.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d told me to fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>lighten up</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The irony astounded me. I’m a vampire, father; don’t you know I’m highly flammable?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d pulled me aside to just ridicule me, and despite it graciously saving me from spontaneously combusting at the sickening sight of Simon Snow, I was still soured by the comment.</span>
</p>
<p> <span>“You mean to tell me I’m not the light of a party I disagreed with from the offset? My, how peculiar that is.” My face was twisted into an ugly expression, but I couldn’t help it. I was in a foul fucking mood.</span></p>
<p> <span>“</span><em><span>Basilton,” </span></em><span>he was growing tired of me now, pinching his nose again. “You have a name to uphold, a family to represent. The way you are conducting yourself tonight is embarrassing. Need I remind you of what we’re trying to do here?”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>I tense at that, feeling sheepish and outraged all at once. I’m festering, for Crowley’s sake. It’s pathetically childlike, even for me. My father looks at me again, straight on, and almost softens. I think he’s seen something in my expression, and I don’t want to know what it is. I hope he feels guilty for putting me through this, the wanker.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I notice the Wellbelove has been trying to get your attention. Maybe you should start socialising, making your way around the room. Take her on a tour of the house.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I cross my arms, and scoff. (</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry Father, only if she had slightly darker curls, wasn’t part of the opposite sex, and was called Simon Snow, would that sentence interest me.)</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’s been here before. And I think Dev has claimed that one.” That’ll do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I haven’t seen my Father truly smile since my Mother died, even at the birth of the twins and Mordelia. And I’m not even sure I’d call what he’s doing now </span>
  <em>
    <span>smiling. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But it resembles it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t let that stop you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I let out a breathy chuckle. Grimm men aren’t nothing if not headstrong. I look up at him again then. I definitely look more like my Mother, but I can slightly see the resemblance in this light. I wonder if he looks at me and sees her. I’m not quite sure how that would make me feel, honestly. It would explain a lot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Basil, I want what’s best for you. Whether that be in the position you will come to hold in what’s to come, or simply your current wellbeing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He rests his hand on my shoulder, and squeezes tightly. This whole interaction has my head </span>
  <em>
    <span>spinning, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it’s not the champagne.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look miserable, boy. Despite what reservations you have about my intentions for you, I’d like to see you happy. In my office is where the good liquor is kept; go crazy, Basil.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I am not Simon, or Penny. I have crafted my demeanour carefully over the years; I am the epitome of collected, unbothered, and badass. (At least, I like to think so.) But I almost choke on air at this, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Malcolm Grimm </span>
  </em>
  <span>did not just tell his seventeen year old son to go and get wankered. Albeit, more eloquently than I’ve just put it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There are children here, Father.” I raise an eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re all about to move to the club, Basil.  When I said you need to start garnering support of your peers, I was deathly serious. Use this as an opportunity.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leaves then, cutting off any further arguments from my side, and I’m left standing there like a pillock, speechless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I steel myself, and straighten my shoulders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“The way you’re conducting yourself tonight is embarrassing, Basil. Need I remind you what we’re trying to do here?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fine, if the world really wants to see a drunken and stumbling Baz Pitch, if they want to see me </span>
  <em>
    <span>having fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’m going to have a bloody whale of a time. I’m going to get fucked off pina coladas, and take a walk in the fucking rain, and if I haven’t won over the heart and soul of every seventh year by the end of the evening, then I’ll let the chosen one get it over with and kill me there and then.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>SIMON</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe Agatha </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to get back together with me, but just didn’t know how to approach me and then maybe this weird feeling in my chest can go away. Truthfully, I’m not sure if this weird feeling has anything to do with Agatha, or the conversation I just witnessed, or if it’s this fancy beer I’m drinking. (I didn’t even know beer </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>be fancy, it all tastes the same to me.) Anyway, she just waved at me. I hope we talk tonight, even if it’s just to catch up. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>miss her, although not as much as I thought I would. (At least, not anymore.) But I do miss her, and I think Penny does too.</span>
</p>
<p> <span>Penny’s still holding my hand, and she squeezes it again. Agatha sees this, and looks away. She probably thinks me and Penny have gotten together, which is </span><em><span>never </span></em><span>going to happen – Penny’s like my sister. I’d even told Aggie this, so many times, but it never stopped her getting sensitive about it. Penny nudges my shoulder with hers now, and gestures towards Malcolm, with Baz now at his side. I start paying attention again.</span></p>
<p> <span>“Now, it is time to let the younger generation have their fun. If the families and younger siblings would do the honour of joining us for some further entertainment, our family has prepared the fun part on the club grounds. There are cars waiting outside if you wish to continue the evening.”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>I’d forgotten the families were leaving halfway through. Surely this broke some serious rules, but honestly I wouldn’t put it past the Pitch family to consider themselves above the law. I didn’t like it more and more by the second.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But first, a toast, to new friendships!” He raises his glass, and flashes a smarmy smile. The families all cheer and clink glasses, and their departure goes by in a blur. I turn to Penny, frantic as she says goodbye to her siblings and parents.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Penny, this is seriously suspect. We have to tell the Mage. It could be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>trap.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>She rolls her eyes at me, hands on her hips. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Simon, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I really don’t think this is some sort of scheme. You have officially run up your allowance of Baz talk. Let’s just get this over with and have </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun. </span>
  </em>
  <span>My Mum’s not picking us up until Midnight, anyway.</span>
  <em>
    <span>”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I grab her sleeve. “But Penny, think about it, why else would they separate us? Nothing good happens at midnight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t get a chance to answer though, because the big doors to the ballroom shut after the last of the families, and Baz Pitch stands at the helm of the room, bottle of champagne in hand. He looks insanely smug, and it makes me bristle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We all heard the man, let’s have a fucking party then, shall we?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like the posh wanker he is, Baz pops the champagne, the fizz flying everywhere, and the whole room erupts into cheers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. I had to use hate to disguise my love for someone, so I picked on you.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is itttttt.<br/>it's taken me ages because it's like almost 10k words and i didn't know whether to just have it all in one go, but this is the final chapter and the end of my first proper fic on ao3!<br/>i am so so excited for you guys to read it, and i hope you love it as much as i've loved writing it and please feel free to leave comments and feedback and i will love you forever &lt;3</p><p>ok thank you !!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>CHAPTER THREE</strong>
</p><p>SIMON</p><p>I look over to where Baz is <em>dancing.</em></p><p>Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch, with his fruity cocktail in hand, and sharp tongue in the other, is shaking his arse in time to the rhythm to yet another eighties rock song, and I can only watch in dismay as he throws his head back and full-on <em>howls </em>with laughter. He looks so carefree. (He looks happy.)</p><p>
  <em>Merlin.</em>
</p><p>I can tell I’m not the only one who is utterly baffled by the sight of Baz Pitch showing any form of emotion that wasn’t Eternally Pissed Off. I guess that’s what happens when the embodiment of evil invites everyone onto his territory, there’s no need for theatrics anymore. (Except he doesn’t really look evil. Not like this. Not now.)</p><p>I think the whole of Seventh year is in shock, because people are definitely looking at him weird, people that aren’t just me, and Merlin knows why, but it <em>annoys me.</em> And what annoys me more is that I’m not sure <em>what </em>has got me all riled up. He’s allowed to have fun, isn’t he? I shouldn’t prosecute him for it. I don’t think I’ve seen the tosser even so much as smile in all our years living together at Watford, and it’s not <em>that</em> bad a sight. (He’s got quite a nice smile really, if you forget that he drinks the blood of rats every night.) It’s just a weird sight, and half of me wonders if he’s so chipper because he’s got something up his sleeve. (More than half of me, if we’re being honest.)</p><p>He’s got his minions Dev and Niall next to him, and I’m surprised that Agatha isn’t with them, but she’s over dancing with some girls I don’t recognise. I don’t think I ever met any of Agatha’s friends when we were going out, I didn’t know she <em>had </em>any other friends.  </p><p>I can feel myself stewing, looking at Baz again. His whole group erupts into cheers as another weird eighties’ song comes on. This one’s a clear favourite, judging by the way Baz fucking <em>shimmies </em>along with the music. I don’t really understand eighties music if I’m honest, but there’s been a lot of it tonight. (At least, that’s what Penny’s told me every time I’ve asked. Music has never really been one of my strong suits.) There are a lot of songs from the same guy with a nasally voice, who sings about being a starman and living on the moon, it’s quite odd. There are also a lot of French phrases mixed in with English, as well as out of tune singing that I’m not sure is intentional. (His music taste does a lot to explain Baz’s character. He’s bloody strange, there’s no denying. But seeing him tonight, without all the show at Watford, I don’t think he’s up to anything. He seems like he’s just enjoying himself. It makes me feel weird, seeing him act normal, because he most certainly isn’t. He’s Baz. The two aren’t synonymous.) I must be full-on gaping at this point, or my face must be doing something extra weird because Penny shoves my shoulder with her own, a smirk on her face.</p><p>“Simon, take a picture, it’ll last longer,” she says to me, which earns her a chorus of splutters in response. (Why would I be looking at Baz? How much has she had to drink?) I ask her as much and I’m just met with a smug smile as Pen flounces off, leaving me to nurse my beer and stare at Baz across the room. I must be giving off some sort of vibe because everyone at this party is steering clear of me, all in favour of dancing with this new Baz that had come out of <em>bloody nowhere. </em>Right now, he’s in some sort of contest, mouthing along to the words of yet another weird eighties song, strumming his hands along as if they held some sort of electric guitar. And he looked fucking <em>good </em>whilst doing it. How was Baz Pitch drunkenly air guitaring, something that should be utterly embarrassing, and not looking the least bit foolish? It could be because he’s a vampire. (Penny’s little sister, Priya, gave me these vampire books where the bloodsuckers sparkle and turn into walking works of art the minute they get bitten. It’s all very teen-y, and probably not very realistic, mind you.) Either way, it’s irritating and the way our classmates are laughing at him, as if his family aren’t trying to enslave us all, is making my blood boil. And he’s <em>enjoying it. </em>The wankstain.</p><p>This party is shit. I down my drink, in search of another.</p><p> </p><p>BAZ</p><p>If you asked me to tell you how many of these wonderful fruity concoctions I’d had tonight, I probably wouldn’t be able to tell you. I probably wouldn’t be able to tell you the last time I was this trollied. Come to think of it, I probably would. However, I wouldn’t be able to tell you the last time it felt this <em>good. </em>I’m not one for social occasions, nor am I one for loud screeching and obnoxious teenage dancing, but something about my Father’s words had stayed with me. Or maybe it was David Bowie’s words, but either way I was fucked off vodka and mixed fruit juice and it was glorious.</p><p>
  <em>“We can dance if we want to, we can leave your friends behind</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Well they're no friends of mine.”</em>
</p><p>We’re all dancing now; this song is a childhood favourite of mine. Dev and Niall’s too. Whenever I’d stay with Fiona, we’d put on this song while plotting up ways in how we were going to rule the world with the Pitches at the helm. Morbid, I know, especially when you consider that I was roughly eleven when it all started, but this song holds fond memories for me anyway. I feel slightly invincible, and it’s definitely the booze talking, but I don’t feel like such a self-conscious, contained shit anymore. I’m shaking my arse in time to the beat, my hair is no doubt all over the place, but I couldn’t give a flying fuck because I’m Baz Pitch and I could still <em>eviscerate </em>any one of these half-wits if anyone ever dared try to fuck with me tonight. But also, I feel invigorated, because Simon Snow can’t stop staring at me.</p><p>I loathe to admit it, but I’m enjoying this evening a lot more than I thought I would.</p><p>I should probably stop drinking now.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>BAZ</p><p>Agatha is staring at me, too.</p><p>She’s probably thinking about our last chat, in the courtyard. I think she’s under the impression that our interaction in the Wavering Wood left something open, almost like an invitation. (I was just trying to keep her from telling the whole Magickal world what she had just witnessed. But of course, Simon Snow thinks I was and still am trying to steal his bloody prized possession from him.) Judging from the way she’s slinking over here with her friends; I can tell Agatha probably thinks the same. I wonder why she can’t just take the hint that I haven’t looked at her all night, and I don’t think it to be cruel. I simply don’t want to be sucked into her fairy-tale story as the villain, or as the evil prince who holds the fair maiden under his influence until the hero, Simon <em>fucking </em>Snow, swoops in to save her. I don’t have the time for this. It’s ruining my favourite song, and I’ll be damned before I let it ruin the night and the nice buzz the alcohol has brought to my system. (I wonder if Simon would ever save <em>me. </em>It’s not that I need saving from anything. (Unless you discount the undeadness). I suppose he could save me from having to kill him by not being the chosen one. He could save me a place in this whole war if he simply ceased to exist. He could also save me from having to witness what a blithering idiot he is, when he fails at every spell he attempts. He could have saved me six years of awkward boners and wet dreams.) (He could save me from being disgustingly in love with him.) Maybe the alcohol has gone to my head more than I thought.</p><p>
  <em>“I say, we can go where we want to a place where they will never find</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And we can act like we come from out of this world</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Leave the real one far behind</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And we can dance.”</em>
</p><p>I’ve stopped dancing now, and I’m face to face with Wellbelove and her apparent newly appointed ladies-in-waiting. I must have been daydreaming for longer than I thought, I can feel curious eyes on me, and it irritates me more than I care to admit, that I’ve let this go on so long. I’m acting like a hormonal teenager and not the heir to the Grimm-Pitch name, and I’m letting myself get caught up in childish affairs. (It’s ridiculous. I’ve never been one to let another person in to any kind of hold over me. It’s a skill you learn as a Pitch, and it’s not one I’m about to break. It’s been useful so far.)</p><p>I look around the room, trying my damned hardest to avoid the wide eyes of Wellbelove, and breathe deeply. I need some fresh air. Dev and Niall are looking at me now, no doubt aware of the sudden shift in temperament, or more likely the drop in Pitch temperature. Agatha looks like she’s about to talk to me, and I feel unsteady, no doubt from the alcohol and <em>absolutely nothing </em>else. (Everything suddenly feels foolish, I feel foolish, and I need some air.) Flashing a devilish grin, I excuse myself, fleeing the conservatory in favour of the mansion’s gardens – the end of the gardens.</p><p>Fiona and I have a spot here, hidden behind the flower arches, where she used to sneak me smokes when I first came out to her and needed to just brood in an angsty fifteen-year-old way. We just sat and smoked; we didn’t even talk about it. It’s one of the reasons I absolutely love Fiona, she’s more like me than anyone else in our family. It’s not a habit I’ve kept up, nor is it one I want to, but it’s another fond memory. I pull one out of my pocket now, lighting it up, taking a deep drag and letting it cloud up my lungs.</p><p>“Aren’t you flammable?”</p><p>I whip my head round at a blinding speed in the direction of the interruption, immediately steeling myself up. The tension leaves my body when I see Simon, but another sort of anger returns when he steps closer and takes the cigarette from me and takes a drag. He hacks up his lungs, because he’s a blithering idiot and has probably never smoked a day in his life. Normally it would make me cackle in his face, but it just puts me on edge even further. I snatch the cigarette from him.</p><p>“What do <em>you</em> want<em>, </em>Snow?”</p><p> </p><p>AGATHA</p><p>I want to know why Baz won’t even look at me tonight. I want to know why he hightailed it out of the party once we’d started dancing near the group surrounding him. I’m not foolish, I know there’s nothing really going on between us, and I’m not even sure if he wants there to be, or if I want there to be, but surely I’m not that repulsive that he’d run away.</p><p> It's not like I came here specifically to speak to Baz, or Simon for that matter, but I’ve managed to waste a lot of energy on them both tonight. I’m not even sure why Simon <em>is </em>here. I mean, I knew he’d come. I just didn’t think he and Baz would still be playing their games with each other all night. Sometimes, I feel like I’m the prize they get at the end of their contest. Like a pot of gold under the rainbow that is this ridiculous war. (I hate that feeling. I want to be someone’s <em>now, </em>I want to be someone’s passion, not just something to hold over their enemies. After tonight, I’m not even sure I want that anymore. I think I just want to be with Minty, eating ice cream and watching <em>Wild Child</em>. I just want to be Agatha – and normal. Whatever that means.)</p><p>I’m still dancing with a few of the girls in my Elocution class – but my heart’s not really in it anymore. I’m sick of not knowing what I want, and I’m especially sick of not even being able to decide for myself, not being the main player in my own gameplay. I’m <em>sick </em>of Simon and Baz, and my parents, and this idea that Agatha Wellbelove is worthy of a great name, a dashing young man and a future, because Agatha Wellbelove is fine on her own, thank you. </p><p>Simon’s walking this way, and I know that it’s not really fair to have not spoken to him tonight. I must talk to him, at least just to say hello. As he gets closer, I open my mouth and reach out to grab his attention, but he walks straight past me.</p><p>He doesn’t even look at me. He stalks out of the room in the same direction that not three minutes ago, the same doors Baz just left through. Of course, this has to do with Baz. It’s all Simon cares about these days. (I knew this was all a game between them. Some sort of round of duel in their ongoing match.)</p><p>I stand there, mouth gaped open, completely brushed aside. Why do I only matter when I’m something to win? Why does only the <em>idea </em>of me matter when it’s just that, an <em>idea? </em></p><p>The worst part of it is that I don’t think Simon even noticed me.</p><p> </p><p>BAZ</p><p>“What do <em>you </em>want, Snow?”</p><p>Of course, he’s fucking followed me out here.</p><p>“I want to know what you’re up to.”</p><p>Of course, he does. He thinks I’m the spawn of the devil himself. The pied piper of Watford, waiting to lure everyone to their untimely deaths. (Never forget what he really thinks of you, Basil, even with his pretty brown eyes.) He’s puffing his chest out, like I’ve ruffled his feathers. I suppose I have, with this party and all, it’s probably not a checkpoint under the archetype he’s created for the Scary Vampire Baz Pitch, eater of souls, slayer of mages.</p><p>“Has it ever occurred to you, Snow, that I’m not up to anything this time? Or any other time?”</p><p>He knits his eyebrows then, his confused expression making him look like a blithering idiot.</p><p>“Bullshit. You’re always up to something, it’s <em>you.”</em></p><p>That sets me off. Simon’s been staring at me all night, but this crosses a line I had unknowingly drawn for us tonight, and I’m just not in the mood for it.</p><p>“This isn’t about me, golden boy. We both know what this is about. Why, snow, when you see that someone is having a half-decent night, and it’s not because of you and your bounty of heroic acts, do you feel the need to <em>ruin </em>it?”</p><p>I don’t know why I keep going, I should have left it there. I don’t know where this is coming from. (I do know where this is coming from, I just don’t know why I need to <em>express it all right this instant.)</em></p><p>“Are you that far up your own arse, Simon? Do you think that the world is a fucking children’s storybook, and that you’re the protagonist? That no happiness can occur without you being the catalyst? Or are you just jealous that Wellbelove was dancing with <em>me </em>and not you?”</p><p>His face falters, his expression blank. I’ve hit a nerve, which is perfectly normal for us, especially when Wellbelove is involved, but this feels different. (In all fairness, that could be the alcohol – I’ve never really been good at holding my liquor. But it’s not that, and I can’t put my finger on why this bizarre situation feels different.)</p><p>             “You called me Simon.”</p><p>             “You- <em>What?” </em>I snarl. I’m the one that’s riled up now, and he’s thrown me for a loop, seemingly brushing right over my Agatha comment. </p><p>Snow’s quiet for a moment, and the energy around us is charged. Or the energy around <em>me </em>is charged, the more I calm down and look at him, the more I realise how sullen he is. His shoulders are hunched, and he’s holding his elbows, just looking at me, but not just staring. He’s doing that weird <em>looking </em>thing again, and it’s getting to me.</p><p>“Are you really not up to anything?” he whispers.</p><p>I marvel at him, feeling myself breathe out tension, yet still not willing to let go of this fire.</p><p>“I’m not. My Father thought this would be a good idea. I didn’t even want it.” (I don’t know why I’m telling him this. <em>Stop talking, Baz. He can use this against you. He will.)</em></p><p>His eyebrows are raised now, his face full of childlike wonder and it’s making me feel sick. He really could have been plucked right out of a children’s book and thrown right into a dark novel where he’s expected to save the world and pay the price with all the fire inside him. (I guess that’s not too far from his reality now. I guess it’s not too far from mine.)</p><p>Before I get a chance to elaborate, he blurts out the last thing I ever would’ve expected from Simon Snow, the Mage's heir and saviour to all.</p><p>“Could we just- could we just call a truce? For tonight?”</p><p> </p><p>SIMON</p><p>A truce? I don’t know what’s come over me, or why in bloody hell I just blurted that out.</p><p>Baz looks shocked, and I can’t blame him, I’m a bit miffed too. And it’s <em>me </em>that’s just proposed it. <em>A truce. </em>I wouldn’t even know what that would look like, between me and Baz. I don’t think he really understands it either, judging by the look on his face.</p><p>“<em>What? </em>A truce?”</p><p>“Y-Yeah,” I say, sticking to my guns. No point in backing out now. “Like a ceasefire.”</p><p>“What, you want us to do shots together, drunkenly make up and suddenly be best friends forever?”</p><p>I huff, tugging my hand through my curls. He’s always got to be such a bastard about everything, it does my nut in. </p><p>“Merlin’s sake, Baz. Do you always have to be such an arse? Let’s just not be at each other’s throats tonight, maybe. We can go right back to hating each other after.”</p><p>He’s looking at me like I’m a wild animal, like I’m dangerous, like I’m a threat to him. I don’t really understand it, all things considered.</p><p>“What’s brought these warm, fuzzy feelings on, Snow? It’s got nothing to do with the fact-”</p><p>I don’t let him finish. I know what he’s getting at; I can feel my magic bubbling and smoking up inside of me at the mention of Aggie, but I will it to simmer down. I can’t go off right now. (Not when his Mum’s visit is still playing on my mind.)</p><p>“<em>Baz. </em>Penny’s mum isn’t picking us up till after midnight. I’m stuck here. I just want to try and have a half decent time.” I hold out my hand.</p><p>“Truce?”</p><p>He eyes my outstretched hand, his eyes snakelike, almost as if he’s waiting for any sudden movements. (As if <em>I’m </em>the bloodsucker here.) He gingerly takes my hand, and gives it a firm, cool shake. It’s all very Baz-like.</p><p>“<em>Truce.”</em></p><p> </p><p>PENNY</p><p>As soon as Baz left, Simon ran straight after him.</p><p>I <em>wish </em>he’d just breathe, let loose for a night, stop trying to be the Mage’s heir and the chosen one, but just be Simon. (I know he wants that; I know he does, but I just don’t think he knows <em>how </em>to just let go. I don’t think he’s ever really been given that choice.)</p><p>People are whispering, the room has grown uneasy, but I don’t think anyone really understands why. (Maybe they haven’t even noticed. Maybe uneasy isn’t the word.)</p><p>Simon and Baz have this strange energy about them, they taunt each other at school, pushing until one of them snaps or goes off. They act as if they hate each other to these great lengths, because of their feud, because of their father’s, because of some other inexplicable reason tied to a political tirade. But, it’s almost on a more personal level than someone else’s feud, because it’s not their feud, not really. They’ve been dragged into it, but I’ve always wondered if there was something bubbling underneath to fuel the fire that is their feud. I’ve seen Baz stare at Simon when he thinks no one is looking, and Simon at Baz, but it’s not like <em>that. </em>There’s no other word for it but intense, almost possessive. It freaks me out a bit, and I always look away. It feels like I’m looking in on a private moment, even if seconds later they’re making a spectacle of themselves hurling insults at each other from across the classroom. (My mum would go mental if she heard me talking like this. “Boys will be boys is a ridiculous statement, it’s medieval, hate doesn’t equal love – it equals emotional immaturity!”)</p><p>This time, though, Baz didn’t make a spectacle, or even a fuss. I don’t even think anyone really noticed him leave. Simon did, though, and he ran after him.</p><p>I wonder if he realises how in tune he is with Baz, or even if he realises at all. I wonder if… I just wonder. I don’t get much time to dwell on it, as the energy of the room changes again, as the music becomes more upbeat, right when Baz and Simon walk back into the room. </p><p>Together. </p><p>And they’re <em>talking. </em></p><p>Baz just <em>laughed. </em>I don’t think I’ve ever seen Baz laugh at Simon. Well, <em>at </em>Simon, but never with him.</p><p>Morgana, what is happening?</p><p> </p><p>SIMON</p><p>Tonight, is not going how I thought it would.</p><p>We walked back into the room, bracing ourselves for a very different atmosphere. We got quite a few stares, which I think is fair enough when you consider the fact that we’ve had a very public feud going on our whole time at Watford. Baz pushed me down the stairs once, even if he still denies it, and another time he summoned a Chimera on me. We haven’t really been that subtle with how we feel about one another. Tonight, though, that doesn’t seem to really be the case anymore. I can’t tell if Baz really is putting on an act. He said his dad wanted to throw this whole thing, so it probably has something to do with politics, and it makes me wonder if Baz really is in on it. (That doesn’t explain why <em>I’m </em>being nice to <em>him. </em>And why I was the one to propose the truce. Why did I do that? I try not to think too deeply about it, at least not while I’m a little bit tipsy. Or, a <em>lot </em>tipsy.) </p><p>When we’d joined Baz’s group, I’d expected the looks of <em>what the fucking fuck are you doing </em>from his minions, and I’d half expected Baz to start sneering and turn on me there and then, but he’d fixed them with a hard stare that had dared them to fuck with either of us, and that seemed to placate the group. My other classmates welcomed me too, after ignoring me all night, and since then, as stubborn as I am to admit it, the night has taken a turn for the best. I was having a great time. We’d played drinking games, gotten progressively drunker and just acted like teenagers at a party. Baz had been <em>nice </em>to me all night, he hadn’t acted like we were best friends by any means, but he’d definitely melted his icy exterior just a fraction. (It’s making it harder to be suspicious around him, which normally would have rung alarm bells in my head, but the alcohol is making it difficult to keep my wits about me. Maybe I should stop drinking. But I’m having so much <em>fun. </em>Wasn’t this what Penny wanted?)</p><p>I realise I messed up my opportunity to talk to Baz about his Mum, or ask him about Agatha, or ask him about any ulterior motive, in favour of asking him to be <em>friends </em>with me tonight. I mean, not exactly friends, we agreed that that was a line neither of us were willing to cross, but he agreed to be <em>friendly. </em>As if we haven’t been at each other's throats for the past seven years. I’ll find a time to tell him, after all I know it has to be tonight, away from Watford. I just want to enjoy tonight while I can. I’ve forgotten about the Mage, and the weight of responsibility that had become a permanent fixture on my shoulders feels like it’s been lifted, even if just a little. (It’s a heavy load to carry. Sometimes I feel the weight of my sword across my shoulders, even when it isn't there. We learnt about the legend of Atlas in one of our classes last term, and I kind of related to the poor sod. I don’t feel like that tonight, though.)</p><p>We’re dancing in the middle of the room now; I’m dancing with <em>Dev and Niall </em>and I can’t get over the utter ridiculousness of it. I can’t see Penny anywhere, and I’m not sure if she’s seen me, but I find that I don’t really mind that she’s gone off on her own. (I guess it was <em>me </em>that ran off.) I’m sure we’ll catch up later. No doubt I’ll find out what exactly Baz has up through his sleeve if I’m with him all night, and we can recon later. (Just because we have a truce doesn’t mean I can’t use it to my advantage, right?)</p><p>The song playing, some kind of alternative indie tune, is coming to a close and it’s followed by a belting voice that screams out into the room.</p><p>
  <em>“Carry on my wayward son</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For there'll be peace when you are done</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Lay your weary head to rest</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don't you cry no more”</em>
</p><p>Everyone around me lights up, and it confuses me; I don’t really see this as a Pitch anthem. I look up at Baz, the bugger’s always two inches on me height-wise, and he’s looking at me in <em>glee. </em>They’re <em>all </em>looking at me, and it makes me shift uncomfortably.</p><p>“I didn’t really clock you for an American rock fan,” I sniff. Even with my limited musical knowledge, I knew this didn’t really fit the mood Baz had been going for tonight.</p><p>“I’m not,” he grins at me, like the devil. “This is a sort of inside joke we have.”</p><p>“What’s the joke?”</p><p>“It’s about you, chosen one.”</p><p>I’m taking a sip of one of Baz’s concoctions, far too sweet for me, which I didn’t even realise could be possible, and I come <em>way </em>too close to spilling it down Premal’s clothes; Penny would <em>kill </em>me if I ruined his shirt. I don’t think she’d asked him if I could borrow it. (Not that it matters, it’s not like he really lives there anyway.)</p><p>I look up at him now, and he’s flashing me a devil-may-care grin paired a mischievous glint in his eye, but it doesn’t make me uneasy. (I know what everyone thinks of me, that I’ve taken it upon myself to be the saviour of the world of mages, and that I think I’m somehow better than everyone because I was named the Mage’s heir.) I know that people think I’m too intense, and I know that Agatha broke up with me because I have a hero complex, a chip on my shoulder the size of the world on Atlas’ back. I think if I weren’t already giddy from the beer, I would’ve jumped on the defensive, <em>and Baz’s throat, </em>and have hurled my limited range of insults, that consist of ‘Fuck off!’ and ‘Wanker!’ at him. But, instead, I laugh. (Don’t ask me why.)</p><p>Maybe it does something to make Baz more human, to know that they have private jokes and meanings attached to songs like children, even if it’s all aimed at me. Baz is still laughing at me, and even Niall and Dev are looking at me weird - not in a <em>why is this idiot still here </em>kind of way, but as if I’ve been let in on something. </p><p>“What, tormenting me at Watford isn’t enough, but you’ve got to do it behind my back too?” I keep my tone light, testing out the waters.</p><p>Baz just stares at me, one eyebrow raised and his eyes searching mine. (Probably trying to figure out whether I’m going to go off or not.) I grin back at him, and he visibly relaxes back into the smarmy look he donned before. Then, he tips his head back and laughs; a full throttle, deep-bellied <em>laugh. </em>Now, I’m the speechless, one. </p><p>“God, Simon. You’re not just a blithering idiot, after all.” He drawls, his eyes doing that glinting thing again. This time, I know he’s joking. The last time he called me that, he was trying to embarrass me in class, and it was followed by “you’re the worst chosen one to ever have been chosen, Snow.” <em>Snow.</em></p><p>“You did it again.” I marvel. Twice.</p><p>“What?” he furrows his brows.</p><p>“You called me Simon.”</p><p>He doesn’t hear me, or at least pretends not to, instead hearing the opening for <em>Sweet Child O’ Mine </em>that kicks in, and the room descends into madness, with flurries of movement and screaming, and not for the first time tonight. I’m getting a headache from the constant change in tunes. I still haven’t seen Penny, I know she loves this kind of music, and I’m not sure if I should go and find her, or if she’s enjoying herself not having to look after me for a night. (I know that’s stupid, Penny’s my best friend, but sometimes I think she must feel like a babysitter.) Now that I think of it, I haven’t seen Agatha since she tried to dance with Baz, and I realise I didn’t even stop to talk to her.</p><p>I look up at Baz again. In this light, nodding his head along to the beat, his face is illuminated in a way I’d never seen before. He wasn’t <em>scary, </em>like the image I’d created in my head. <em>Baz Pitch wasn’t scary. </em>(I suppose the only times I’ve ever been this <em>close </em>to him before is when we’re screaming in each other’s faces, so I suppose it makes sense.) Don’t get me wrong, he still looks like a fucking vampire, with that haunting, brooding look he plasters on every day. He’s still got sharp angles, sharp eyes, but he’s almost… softened? It makes my chest pang, and I’m trying not to let it freak me out, but I think I feel sorry for him. Because, if you think about it, he’s probably trying to forget the war tonight just as much as I am. (I’m the Mage’s heir, saviour of the world of Mages, but he’s the <em>Pitch </em>heir. He’s like the saviour of the old families or something. Both sides think they’re what’s right. He’s got just as much a burden to carry as I do, so I guess he’s like Atlas too. Mixed with that other bloke who can’t stop looking at his reflection.) </p><p>I feel like I’m looking at him properly for the first time tonight, he’s got on this black long-sleeved cotton shirt, and it’s tight. It shows off his surprisingly athletic build, considering his legs are some of the longest in our year. He’s got a good three inches on me, which he never fails to remind me of. He’s wearing jeans too; which I realise with a jolt that I’ve <em>never </em>seen him wear. They’re tight, too. He dresses like a posh rocker, but with boat shoes, and still manages to make it look <em>good</em>. Of course, he does, he always does, the bastard.</p><p> </p><p>BAZ</p><p>I don’t like the way Simon’s looking at me.</p><p>He’s not even looking, he’s <em>staring. </em>Again.</p><p>I look stupid dancing, I must look stupid dancing, and it must be the alcohol making me think I can actually dance, because why else would he be staring at me like that?</p><p> </p><p>PENNY</p><p>It all makes sense, now.</p><p>I wondered, and now I know, and I can’t believe I never saw it before.</p><p>How have neither of them never see it before?</p><p> </p><p>SIMON</p><p>We’re playing another sort of drinking game again, where you line up cups filled with alcohol at each side of the table and you have to throw a ball and try and land it in one of the cups. If you land it in a cup, someone from the other team has to drink what <em>you’ve </em>filled it up with, and it goes until all the cups are empty. It’s some sort of American game, Trixie said she learnt it from Penny, which I find hard to believe, but apparently, she overheard Micah explaining it from one of their Skype sessions.</p><p>It’s fun enough, and me and Baz are on the same team, which means the other team are getting <em>slaughtered. </em>Both at the game, and from the booze. We may be enemies usually, and we may have to turn on one another next year, but we’re <em>ruthless </em>together. I’m getting a glimpse of what Baz must be like as a teammate on Watford’s football team, and it’s giving me an adrenaline rush. We sink the last cup on the opposing team’s side, and one of the boys who lives below us, Rhys, groans and downs it in defeat.</p><p>Everyone’s chanting at him, and I turn towards Baz in victory, both of us bursting into laughter, and he slings his arm around my shoulder. It takes me by surprise. This all feels too good to be <em>true, </em>like I’m going to wake up tomorrow and realise that none of tonight has actually happened, and that me and Baz are going to go right back to wanting to off the other. (I guess that is going to happen, though. This truce was only for tonight, after all. The thought makes me feel something that I can’t quite explain.)</p><p>I can’t help but look at him again, our close proximity and all. I’ve looked at Baz a lot tonight, and I hope he hasn’t noticed, but I feel like I’m looking at a different person. His face was still sharp in the dim light, but it’s even later now, and his usually jagged features have softened. (I’ve never thought of Baz as <em>soft </em>before. It’s like that saying ‘cheese and chalk’. The two just don’t go.) I feel my grin dulling, or kind of settling, into a small smile, and it tugs at my dimples. I guess this amicable ease is nice, even if I know it’s only for tonight. (It doesn’t have to be. He’s smiling at you too, Simon.)</p><p> </p><p>BAZ</p><p>People are starting to stare at me, at us. Even Agatha’s looking at us like she’s just discovered the North Pole and we’re Santa’s fucking little elves. People probably think we’re <em>friends, </em>they don’t realise this is all part of a drunken truce. (Seeing the Chosen one and the Antichrist all chummy will do that. I can’t believe I agreed to Snow’s stupid truce. I can’t believe I’ve got my <em>arm around the chosen one.</em>)</p><p>It took me a while, and I blame the haze in my head stopping me from policing myself, but I can feel how much we’ve gravitated towards each other without even realising, and I can’t bring myself to ask why that is. (Obviously, I don’t need to explain my side. But by my side is where he’s stayed all night, and it’s making me dizzier than I can explain.) The thought of him going back to hating me tomorrow is fucking me off, and I’m quickly sobering up. Dev and Niall are shit at this game, and I’ve barely drank out of any of the cups during the whole of this game. (Dev has the emotional range of a <em>brick, </em>thank God, but Niall’s been looking at Snow and I all night, giving me weird looks. Almost as if to ask…)</p><p>I can’t let myself go there.</p><p>He’s not smiling at you with those pretty blue eyes because he suddenly doesn’t despise you, Baz, he’s smiling because you won a stupid <em>game. </em></p><p>So why am I still torturing myself?</p><p>I take my arm back and straighten up, feeling a tad ashamed of myself.</p><p> </p><p>AGATHA</p><p>Oh.</p><p>I guess I wasn’t the final prize, or the damsel’s hand to be won. I wasn’t even worth a battle.</p><p>I was the idea, the cover-up, the collateral damage in their duel.</p><p>
  <em>Why couldn’t they just leave me out of it?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>SIMON</p><p>It’s quite late in the evening now, the party’s winding down a bit, with the music mellowing and people starting to make their way back home. Penny found me about half an hour ago, and she’s been weird ever since. She keeps looking at me, opening her mouth as if to say something, and then shutting it again. It makes her look like a gaping goldfish, forgetting what she wants to say every three seconds. I pretend I don’t see, because I’ve got a pretty good clue about what she wants to bring up.</p><p>I wasn’t wrong.</p><p>“So, are we just going to ignore the fact that I’ve been replaced as your best friend with <em>Baz Pitch?” </em>I know she’s not being serious, but I feel a bit guilty anyway. I have ditched her all night, even if <em>she </em>was the one that floundered off.</p><p>“We’re not best mates, Pen, alright? We just… called a truce for tonight,”</p><p>“But why? I thought you wanted to see what he was up to, investigate further.” Now, I know she’s not being serious. She’s making fun of me.</p><p>I look into my cup. I filled it up with water a little while ago, so now my head’s a bit clearer. I’ve got at least half of my wits about me, if not almost all of them. Quite a few people have left, so we’d all moved to Baz’s drawing room. (If you could even call it that, I’d call it a bloody museum, it’s <em>huge. </em>I knew Baz was rich, but I didn’t realise it was like this.) Baz and his minions are playing pool in the middle of the room, still drinking. It’s all so posh and British, and I can’t stand it.</p><p>            “Hope you don’t mind if I nick this one for a bit!” </p><p>As soon as she entered the room, Penny came marching over. She’d not even given anyone time to respond but had dragged me away by my elbow to sit in the corner of the room on the couch. (I can’t help but feel like the child she’s got to babysit. Again.)</p><p>“Simon?” I’ve been daydreaming, and I can’t quite meet her eye. Penny’s eye contact is intense at the best of times.</p><p>“Is everything alright? I know I made fun of you earlier, but I’m sorry I left you. I thought you’d go make friends, but not with <em>Baz.”</em></p><p>“Pen, I’ve already told you, we’re not <em>friends. </em>It’s just a truce.”</p><p>“Forgive me if I’m still a bit miffed, Simon. This is coming from someone who has had to put a Baz-Ban on you. Pardon the alliteration.”</p><p>“What’s that supposed to mean?” I’m dyslexic, and she knows this.</p><p>Penny’s face softens, and she laughs, which irritates me even more. I don’t get what’s so funny about me tonight. Penny knows though, and she’s giving me a weird look that makes me squirm. I don’t get to ask her about it though, because a high-pitched squeal cuts through the room’s gentle hum of laughter.</p><p>“<em>BATHIL!”</em></p><p>The room goes dead quiet, so quiet you could hear a pin drop, but it’s followed by screeching and laughing, and the bloody Grimm-Pitch family in all their glory waltzing through the doors. Two small Pitch’s, softened versions of Baz, a boy and a girl, charge towards him, and they’re followed by a teenage girl, who holds his resemblance a bit more. To the surprise of blimmin’ <em>everyone </em>in the room, Baz throws down his pool cue and bends down with open arms to pick up one of the mini-Pitch’s, throwing her up in the air and catching her again. I feel my eyes go wider than humanly possible as he balances her on his hip, smothering her cheek in kisses, as she squeals and laughs.</p><p>The room is still hushed. A lot of students are still here, and somehow, I don’t think I’m the only one to ever label Baz as a spoilt, only child. I never really thought of him as someone who had siblings, let alone someone who <em>loved </em>them. (I don’t think I ever really thought of him as someone with feelings, just as a vampire devoid of all emotion, incapable of showing any affection like a normal person. I guess you can be a vampire <em>and </em>a person, in a weird sort of way. I guess he is a person still.)</p><p> I look at Penny, and her eyebrows are raised, her eyes just as wide as mine. Baz Tyrannus Pitch has managed to leave me dumbfounded several times tonight, and rather than thinking of ways to use it against him, all I could think about was that he deserved to know about his Mother, and that he deserved to know more than the Mage. As he kisses the little Pitch again, he sets her down, repeating the process all over again with the other child, all I know was that <em>Baz fucking Pitch, </em>the bane of my entire existence, the one I was supposed to kill at the end of all of this, was going to be an issue.</p><p>“Pen, I’ve got something I need to do before your Mum picks us up.”</p><p> </p><p>BAZ</p><p>I hadn’t laughed with the twins like that in <em>years. </em>I can’t remember the last time I’d picked them up and spun them so, or if I’d ever done that with them. Maybe it was Mordelia. Once I became old enough to really understand the gravity of the Mage’s influence, and who the Humdrum was, and what Simon Snow really meant for the Pitch family, I hadn’t had a lot of time for children’s games.</p><p>But, tonight, my father had looked at me like he was proud and had patted my shoulder before taking the little ones up to bed. Daphne had kissed my cheek. We’d always gotten along, but we’d mostly just stayed out of each other’s way. I’d scuffed the top of Mordelia’s head, messing up her plaits, and she’d batted me away but still laughed with me. Only Fiona had stayed behind, but I could tell something had shifted. Fiona was not a hugger, and I most certainly was not either, but even she’d pinched my right cheek.</p><p>“It’s so nice to see you smile for once, Boyo. It’s become rare. Now get fucked before I grow soft on you.”</p><p>I’d laughed, not bothering to point out that it was <em>her </em>who’d crashed the party. Our family had never been one to talk about our feelings, we all kept our own issues to ourselves, which was fine. It worked. After tonight, though, I couldn’t help but feel like the gloomy halls and empty rooms would feel a little brighter. (Maybe even the wraiths would come back into my room.)</p><p>People have started leaving now, it was well past midnight once my family had said their goodbyes, and now only a few of us were left in the drawing room. The Smiths are playing in the background, and I know this is how teenagers are supposed to behave, Dev goes to parties all the time, but it feels like someone else’s moment they’re living. (If you wanted to be really morose, you’d say that might be because I’m not actually alive. But for now, I think I’m just sobering up.)</p><p>            <em>Take me out tonight</em></p><p>
  <em>Where there's music and there's people</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And they're young and alive.</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>I’m saying goodbye to some more of our classmates when I hear a throat clear, as if to get my attention.</p><p>Simon.</p><p>“Are you <em>still </em>here? Wellbelove departed a while ago, don’t you follow her like a lost puppy?”</p><p>He looks exasperated with me, and I grimace when I replay my words. <em>The truce, Basil. </em>Old habits die hard, I suppose.</p><p>“We need to talk.”</p><p>“We are talking.” I raise an eyebrow at him.</p><p>“<em>No, </em>Baz. This is <em>important</em>.” He all but spits it out.</p><p>His tone makes me straighten up where I’d been leaning against an armchair, and I do a quick look around the room. There are still quite a few guests here, but I can trust Dev and Niall in my absence were anything to happen. I turn back to Snow, and gesture to the hallway.</p><p>“Alright, let’s talk then.”</p><p>We walk in silence throughout the house, not uncomfortable, as the hum of music and laughter becoming muted as we move further away from the living quarters. After a few minutes, we reach the grand doors of our library, and I hold one open for Snow, and slip in quietly after him, turning on the lights.</p><p>“<em>What </em>is so important that you had to pull me aside, Snow? If this is about the truce, I don’t-”</p><p>“It’s not about the truce,” he interrupts me, but he won’t look at me, instead choosing to stare at his feet. His voice is small, too.</p><p>“Then what is it about?”</p><p>“I- I saw your Mum.” He’s looking at me now, his blue eyes boring into mine.</p><p>“My Mother’s dead.” My tone makes him flinch, and I don’t blame him, I hear the coldness in it. This isn’t my favourite subject.</p><p>“No, I saw her. In our room. At Watford. As a <em>visitor.”</em></p><p>“<em>What? </em>When?”</p><p>“When you disappeared, at the start of term. The veil, it lifted.”</p><p>“And you’re only just telling me <em>now?” </em>I must look quite feral, judging by Snow’s wide eyes. My whole body is tense, and my heart is hammering. The blithering idiot <em>lives </em>with me, hurls insults my way every single day, and somehow forgot to mention he’s spoken to my <em>dead mother?</em></p><p>“I just didn’t know the right time to tell you, there never was a <em>right </em>time. I couldn’t keep it in any longer.”</p><p>I take a deep breath, refraining from wringing his lovely neck out. It’s covered in freckles, and it looks too <em>tempting. </em></p><p>“What did she say?”</p><p>“She spoke of someone called Nicodemus, that you should find him. That he’ll bring her peace. And-” he falters, and it irritates me. He could at least try to act intelligent, or like he’s clued up, rather than just stumbling his way through everything. It gives me hope for my chances of beating him, because Crowley knows I couldn’t do it based on power alone.</p><p>“And what? Spit it <em>out, </em>Snow.”</p><p>“She said that her killer walks.”</p><p>“She- <em>What?”</em></p><p>I furrow my brows, taking in this new information, like a withered-up flower to water. Like I didn’t <em>know </em>I needed this information, until I had it, and now it’s all-consuming. (My <em>Mother. </em>But who-?)</p><p>The anger floods back all too quickly, making me lightheaded.</p><p>“Who is Nicodemus?”</p><p>That puzzles Snow, he’s gaping foolishly, his mouth hanging wide open. He looks ridiculous.</p><p>“I don’t know, I thought <em>you’d</em> know.”</p><p>“How the living <em>fuck </em>would I know who killed my Mother, or who this Nicodemus bloke is? Was this your plan all along, to cruelly taunt me with titbits of information?”</p><p>Snow bristles at that. <em>Good, </em>a reaction, a certainty I can deal with. Nothing grounds me more than the smell of Simon’s magic, because it means <em>I’m </em>the one stoking the fire.</p><p>“Fuck off, Baz, you know I’d never-”</p><p>“You’d never what? Call a truce so you could use what you find out against me? You never really wanted to be<em> friends </em>did you, Snow?” I spit out the word ‘friend’ like it’s acid, like it leaves a bad taste in my mouth. We were never destined to be friends, and we both know it. I wonder how my Father would feel if he saw me now.</p><p>“Not everyone is a <em>tosser </em>like you Baz, some people actually have <em>souls </em>and care about-”</p><p>“So why wait until tonight?” I’m cutting him off again, and I can smell the smoke leaking from his pores, the waves of his magic hitting me mercilessly. I don’t want him to go off, I just want to rile him up. I don’t understand why he’s so defensive, so upset, when it’s <em>my </em>Mother’s name being dragged through the mud.</p><p>“Did you wait so you could butter me up, come into my home and manipulate me? Wait until my defences are down, weaken me with stories of my Mother and then take the final blow when I’m already down?”</p><p>Snow has squared up to me now, I’m practically screaming in his face. We’re in the library, which is the furthest room in the house, so no one can hear us. (No-one but the wraiths, who are watching us like hawkes, just circling.)</p><p>“<em>No, </em>Baz, I just wanted-”</p><p>“Wanted what, Simon? To put me out of my misery, to-”</p><p>And then his mouth is on mine.</p><p> </p><p>SIMON</p><p>I just wanted him to stop talking, to stop saying awful, <em>untrue </em>things.</p><p>I just wanted to make him see that I was doing this for <em>him.</em></p><p>But now I’m kissing him.</p><p>I’m <em>kissing </em>him.</p><p><em>I’m </em>kissing <em>Baz.</em></p><p> </p><p>BAZ</p><p>I’m too shocked to respond. </p><p>It’s an intense kiss, with a lot of sheer force driving it.</p><p>But then, he’s not moving his mouth, I think out of shock more than anything, on both our parts. But he stays, holding his lips steadfast to mine. And they’re so <em>warm.</em></p><p>And he slowly pulls away, resting his head on my forehead.</p><p>Christ, is this what it’s like to burn?</p><p> </p><p>SIMON</p><p>I just wanted him to shut up.</p><p>But actually, I just wanted to <em>kiss him. </em></p><p>He’s not as cold as I thought, even with our foreheads pressed together like this. I reach up and take his face in my hands, my fingers stroking back his hair.</p><p>“It was killing me not telling you, I felt dirty, like I was keeping hold of a secret that wasn’t mine to keep.”</p><p>“That’s exactly what you were doing.” His grey eyes are lit, burning like ash and smoke. They’re breath-taking, and I can’t believe I’ve never noticed how intensely they smoke before. (Almost like my magic.)</p><p>I let out a breathy laugh, and bring my face back to look at him, to <em>really </em>look at him. He twitches like he wants me back with him but then relaxes, so small a movement you wouldn’t know it happened if you weren’t pressed right up close to him.</p><p>“I want to help, and I’ll prove it. I’ll help you find this Nicodemus, and I’ll help you find your Mum’s killer.”</p><p>He narrows his eyes at me, his face cautious. </p><p>“But <em>why? </em>Why would you do that for me?”</p><p>I lean in again, and I really kiss him this time. </p><p> </p><p>BAZ</p><p>If I thought I was burning up before, I’m now up in flames.</p><p>Simon Snow has set me alight, and he doesn’t care, because he keeps blowing on the tinder’s and building the flames to new heights.</p><p>This is the first time I’ve ever been kissed, the first time I’ve ever kissed, and so I don’t try and launch straight into it, I let him guide me. For the first time in my life, I’m happy to let Simon take the lead. It’s fucking <em>glorious.</em></p><p>He’s doing this lovely thing with his mouth; he’s done this before. (I try not to think about it.) My face is in his hands, and he’s running them through my hair. I’m burning up, and it’s taking everything I am not to explode, not to burn out. To say I’ve been fantasising about this would be an understatement, but to actually live it, to have the taste of Simon Snow on my tongue, his hands in my hair, and my hands snaked around his waist, is not a fantasy. It’s hot, and fire, and strangely <em>precious. </em></p><p> </p><p>SIMON</p><p>I feel the back of my body come into contact with a solid object. (I hadn’t even realised we’d been walking backwards. I hadn’t even realised there was still a world around us.)</p><p>I’m pressed up against one of Baz’s towering bookshelves, trapped in between his arms, in between <em>him. </em>He’s warmer, now, but I’m shivering. I like this, I like us working together, and I’m struggling to remember why we were ever against each other in the first place. I’m struggling to remember anything with him pressed up against me like this, with his mouth against mine like this. </p><p>He’s Baz. I hate him. (But I don’t think I ever hated him, not <em>really.</em>)</p><p>I followed him round for years, to see if he was plotting. (To see if he was <em>safe.)</em></p><p>He is safe, in my arms, and I know I should probably push him off me, but I can’t. I want him to stay safe, here, and I want us to stay like this, where no one can pit us against each other. Not the Mage, not Malcolm Pitch, no-one.</p><p>He tastes like wildfire, and I’m kindling.</p><p> </p><p>BAZ</p><p>I pull away, and he follows.</p><p>But I put a hand against his chest. (I do it <em>softly. </em>I’ve already got him right where I want him.<em>)</em></p><p>“Bunce is going to wonder where you are.”</p><p>His eyes are like something out of a cartoon, they’re so expressive, and they give away his panic, searching frantically throughout the room.</p><p>“<em>Fuck, </em>shit, what time is it?”</p><p>“I’m not sure, but we should get you back.” I know this moment is over, I know we’ll go back to despising each other, or maybe we’ll resort to ignoring each other after this. The truce was only for tonight, after all. There’s no point in dragging it out.</p><p>I start to leave, but Snow grabs my hand, pulling me back into his chest. He’s smaller than I am, by three inches exactly, but it doesn’t seem that way right now.</p><p>“We’re not going back to how we were. I meant what I said, I’m going to help you avenge your Mother’s death.”</p><p>I raise an eyebrow, trying not to grin like a fucking schoolboy.</p><p>“How are we going to be then?” I can hear that bloody song playing earlier again, on repeat in my mind.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>To die by your side</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Is such a heavenly way to die</em>
</p><p> </p><p>He leans up, and places his lips on mine softly, and I understand without him uttering a word. (He hasn’t got a way with words, Snow, but he’s golden. He’s like the fucking sunshine, like a violent sunrise that wills everything in the world to come alive. I’m like a well, a bottomless pit, but he’s there to fill me up. To keep me flowing.) </p><p>He offers out his hand, and I take it.</p><p>“Follow my lead?”</p><p>And for the second time tonight, I do.</p><p>I think I’d follow him anywhere if we’re being honest.</p><p> </p>
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